Ānanda
by Pyrex Shards
Summary: Helga is in a coma from which she will never awaken. Arnold has been visiting her every day since the accident.


Ānanda

a _Hey Arnold_ fanfic by Pyrex Shards

pre-read by Lord Malachite

I sit in the cramped confines of the Hospital's intensive care waiting room, all too aware that I am in dire need of a cigarette. I mentally count the number of times today I lit up as I look at the clock on the wall. I have already smoked through an entire pack and it is barely eight o'clock in the morning. I should take this feeling for what it is, an overdose of nicotine. I am on a half pack a day habit, and I'm already over my limit. To my defense I woke up at three o'clock and could not get back to sleep, even at my husband's insistence as he tried to hold me in bed, it just didn't work. I must have mentally played this morning in my mind hundreds of times as I stood on the balcony of our apartment.

The walls of this waiting room seem so cramped. I can literally take in the entire view as I sit in the corner. There are the usual amenities. Small, armless chairs sitting beside each other. Wooden end-tables, hideously scratched, with torn magazines from last year. A lamp that clashes with everything, and a small beige phone with instructions on how to dial out framed in a plastic page holder right behind it. I am the only one in this room. I guess not too many people come in to see patients in comas. A nurse told me as she led me in that a boy with the cutest cornflower hair and a blue baseball cap had visited every day promptly at eight to see Helga. I wonder why he's late. Of course, I can't hold him to an unspoken schedule. He doesn't know that I'm waiting for him.

In my hands, resting on my lap, sits a small treasure wrapped carefully in tissue paper. What it symbolizes is the very reason I am here. Curiously enough, Helga's family had approached me and asked me what it all meant. I explained to them that I couldn't tell them everything, but I did say that the boy in the picture meant a lot to her. Her sister asked me to give the locket to him. They never could open the locket. Helga did show the inscription to me once. Somehow she had figured a very clever way to keep it closed so that only she could open it.

"Doctor Bliss?" I look up at the source of the question. Arnold stands in the doorway of the waiting room looking puzzled. In his hands there is a book, I can barely make out the title _Harry Potter and the_ on the cover. The novel is covered by his arm as it rests loosely at his side. Arnold stares at me quizzically.

"Hello Arnold. How are you?" I try to smile for him. In truth I am shaking inside. I never could figure out the perfect scenario for this morning and Arnold's tardiness threw me off. God I need another cigarette.

"I'm okay." Arnold walks in and sits beside me, the book resting in his lap. "You're here to see Helga too, right?" He stares forward, obviously not able to look at me. I think to myself that I disrupted his routine. This ward opens to visitors at eight thirty but they let visitors into the waiting room at eight. He must have to mentally prepare himself for the sight of Helga hooked up to all that machinery. It's a heart wrenching sight, one that I've found does not get one iota easier no matter how many times I come here. She deserves better than this.

"Yes." I nod. At that moment I realize just how much Helga's description of the boy rings true. Outrageously optimistic. But given his demeanor I think deep down he knows no matter how much time he spends with her, Helga will never come out of this. The doctors determined that most of her brain is damaged severely, passed its natural abilities to heal. She is in what they call a permanently vegetative state. Her brain isn't completely gone but they did say they cannot confirm if she's even partially aware of her surroundings. Their machinery sees electrical activity, Helga Pataki is indeed a fighter as well as a romantic. I remember the first time I ever saw Helga. She was so full of anger…but she was also full of life. To think of her reduced to this excuse of an existence…I don't even know whether to be sad or angry. And if I choose anger, should I direct it at Fate, or turn it back upon myself?

We sit there in silence, for what seems like an eternity. Eight fifteen according to the clock on the wall. Time flies, literally. I thumb the outlines of the locket underneath the tissue paper. "Arnold?" I start. He looks at me, that quizzical expression in his eyes. Better late than never. "I'm not really here to see Helga. I'm here to see you."

At my admission he looks down at the floor. I'm well aware of my status as a child psychiatrist for the school system, which means I am also well aware of what is probably going through his mind at the moment he looks back up at me, a stern expression in his face. "I'm not going to stop seeing Helga." He states flatly.

"Good. Because Helga needs you here." I respond. This snaps Arnold out of his funk and he looks at me, surprised. He relaxes his muscles and breathes out in that instant. The tension in the air seems to drop considerably, though my want of a cigarette does not. I remind myself I'm doing this for girl in the adjacent room. I cannot back down, this is an unspoken promise.

A long pause. "Why are you here to see me then?" Arnold asks.

"I'm here on Helga's behalf." I say as I slowly breathe in. I gently unwrap the locket from its protective tissue paper.

I look up and see the spark of recognition in the boy's eyes as he stares at the locket. Helga did say that he had seen the locket before. But he had no idea it was hers thanks to some swift, if not covert action on her part. "That's my Grandfather's locket, the one Grandma gave him on their anniversary a few years ago. It disappeared." He states, then looks me in the eyes. "Why do you have it?"

"Because it never belonged to your grandfather." I say, not breaking eye contact. This is the moment that I played out in my mind over and over; something that Helga has all the right in the world to see but is unable to. So I am taking her place. I note the understanding that creeps into Arnold's eyes as he realizes the answer.

"It belongs to Helga, doesn't it?" He says, not really a question. I can imagine the thoughts that are running through his mind as Arnold plays his experiences with Helga over and over. He's probably thinking all the way back to Preschool, the story that Helga related to me on one of our very first visits. The time he shared his umbrella with her during a rainstorm. The only time he saw Helga's true self, before she wrapped herself up in a shell.

I kick myself to continue. Why is this so hard? I've already damned part of my oath to patient confidentiality. I remind myself that I was not the one who requested this, though I want this too, for Helga and for Arnold. "I think that, given the situation, Helga would want you to have this." I lie. If Helga knew about this beforehand she'd probably wake right up from that hospital bed and try to kill me. "And her sister Olga wants you to keep this for her."

I pick up the locket, gently cradling it in both of my hands and I proffer it to him. He looks at the locket in my hands, sits the book beside him, then slowly reaches for it. He rests his hand on top of it for a brief moment before picking it up, hooking a thumb around the chain to keep it from falling. I let my hands fall to my lap. I smile at Arnold as he looks the treasure over in wonder, tilting it so its golden surface reflects the light. He stares at the picture of himself staring back, all too aware now of what that picture must mean to her. I can imagine Helga beside me threatening me with old Betsy and the five avengers for what I have just done.

I look up at the clock again. Eight twenty as soon as the second hand sweeps past the twelve.

"We never could get this open, Grandpa and me." Arnold states. He looks at the clasp, puzzled. Then a moment of inspiration hits him as he thumbs the clasp, studying it closely. "Wait a minute. The metal is bent in right here. It's clamped over the other half. If I can just..." He trails off as he works at the metal below the clasp with his finger, using the nail for leverage. It opens with a slight pop as the metal gives way to the contents of the locket.

He smiles in triumph for a moment as he starts to read the inscription on the inside. Then his smile starts to fade as the words sink in. I can recite from memory the words of the locket, from the time Helga let me read it:

_Arnold_

_my soul,_

_you are always_

_in my heart._

_Love, _

_Helga G. Pataki_

The silence in the room is almost deafening, if not for the ticking clock and the chatting nurses outside. I can see the tears forming in his eyes as he screws them shut. "Oh man" he says with a breath as his hands start shaking. The locket falls out of his hand but the chain catches and holds on his fingers. The locket dangles there, open, twisting around and dancing in the dull light of the room as his shaking hand moves it around on the chain. He starts sobbing. He brings his hands up and buries his face in them. He sobs into his hands as I look on sympathetically.

I reach over and lay a hand on his back just below his neck, but he doesn't react. The minute hand on the clock says twenty three. "Arnold?" I ask. To make sure he's still with me. "It's okay Arnold. Let it out. You need to." The professional in me fights with the motherly instinct I find myself having for Arnold as he cries into his hands.

"She told me, on the roof of, FTi, but…but I didn't take her seriously enough, I--" He sobbed and sniffled. "I thought she was, just making, an excuse for being there."

A nurse walks in to check on us. I look at him and whisper "not now." He nods and walks out.

"How long?" Arnold asks.

"I'm sorry?" I ask, though I know what he's asking, I want him to ask again anyway. I must hear this question again, this is my atonement to Helga for what I have just done.

"How long have you known, about this?"

He's a smart kid. He knows that I've been Helga's psychiatrist since their fourth grade year. I think he knows the answer already. He's just read the inscription in the locket, he saw the locket when he was in fourth grade and couldn't open it then. He wants me to say it though. "I'm sorry Arnold, I can't tell you that. It's doctor patient privilege." My words tell him all he needs to hear. He nods weakly that he accepts the answer.

We sit there for several minutes, I contemplate as I look up at the clock. Twenty five on the minute hand, the second hand just hit seventeen. Arnold has stopped shaking. He still sniffles every so often and his chest heaves as he does so. The tears are still in his red eyes as he looks up from his hand to stare at the clock. I pick up the tissues that held the locket and offer them to him. He takes them with a polite "thanks" and tends to his tears and his nose, blowing weakly into the tissues. He crumples the wad of tissue paper in his hand.

I watch him gather up the locket and gently close it. He then does something that I didn't think he'd do at all. He slowly plays with the chain of the locket, and then reaches up with the chain to loop it over his head. Once it is safely around his head he gently tucks it underneath his shirt. I smile at him. I can imagine the look of surprise on Helga's face if she had been here to see that, the anger melting away, replaced with something more real.

Eight twenty seven on the wall clock. We sit in silence for the few minutes we have left in the waiting room. I can tell Arnold is appreciative of my company. The irony doesn't escape me. One of Helga's closest confidants sitting here consoling the object of her passions. That very confidant, me, having just revealed to Arnold the very secret that I promised Helga several years ago that I would not tell a single soul, let alone the subject of that secret. All I can do now is sit here silently, asking myself if I am doing this for Helga, or if I am doing it for myself. I don't like the answer I come up with. Three years of working so closely with her, and still I failed her. How could I have let this happen, to cheat her out of the chance she needed to take, to rip her off of beautiful memories that she might be reliving in the deepest corners of her mind right now, if only I had pushed her a little. During our first session, Helga told me that she wasn't ready to tell Arnold how she felt. I understood that. But how could I have been so blind? She never asked, she would never have spoken of it openly—but she was counting on me to help her be ready. And I let her down. I really could use a cigarette right about now.

Eight thirty, and the nurse walks in. "Excuse me." He says softly, he can obviously see the remnants of the tears in Arnold's eyes and look of sympathy in my own face. "You can see Ms. Pataki whenever you're ready." He quietly walks out.

"Go on Arnold." I prod him gently. "Helga is waiting for you." Another Lie. Though I don't know how much of one. No one knows if Helga can hear Arnold when he is there, or any of her other visitors for that matter. One can hope. Judging by the book at his side he's been reading to her, and from where the bookmark is sticking out of the book he's been doing this since the accident.

Arnold nods to me and says "thank you," letting himself smile.

I smile back. The professional in me takes out a card and hands it to him. "If you want someone to talk to, I'm available." His only response is a nod as he stuffs the card in his coat pocket and gets up. We walk to the door, Helga's book in Arnold's hand. I let him walk out the door first and I follow him to the room where Helga lay. Beyond us is a still form, the infernal sound of a respirator and the constant pulse of an ECG. I can go no further as Arnold hesitantly walks into the room, hand balled up into a weak fist, head low.

I turn and walk towards the elevator. As soon as I get there I punch the down button, I have to get out of here, I need a cigarette. It really is a nasty habit, but I don't care. These moments take a lot out of me. The elevator door opens and I walk in. I punch the button marked _P_ and the door closes. Since no one is in the elevator I lean back against the wall and hug myself, letting out a sigh. The tension is going away and replacing itself with something else. Inwardly I wonder if I will never see Helga again. I never imagined my gentle mentoring of Helga could end like this. I always knew that one day she wouldn't need me anymore, but I foolishly presumed that would be because she had grown enough to take control of her life. She is a fascinating young woman. So unique, so full of emotion. Perhaps now Arnold can pick up where I left off. Somehow...

The elevator opens revealing a small lobby and glass doors, beyond that the parking garage. I exit the elevator and walk through to the parking garage. A woosh as the automatic doors open to give me passage. I walk the short distance to my car, a white Mazda RX Eight. It was a gift from my husband on our last anniversary. I swear, Eric really spoils me sometimes. I lean against the car and pull a package out of my purse along with a lighter. In a fluid motion I pull out a cigarette with my lips and drop the pack back in my purse. I maneuver the lighter around and continue my vice, leaning back against my car for support.

"Helga, that was for your own good." I say with the cigarette still in my mouth. Now if only I can make myself believe that, I might be able to face her again. I take a slow breath in to let the smoke fill my lungs, then remove the cigarette with my fingers as I bring my other hand to my forehead. I screw my eyes shut as tears come and I choke out cigarette smoke.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

I have lost count of the number of times I've stood here looking at Helga. She's hooked up to all sorts of weird machines. Some of them I recognize. The heart monitor with its lines showing what I hope is a steady heartbeat. Some kind of IV bag containing a clear liquid. Probably Helga's breakfast. A few other bags below the bed that I don't like to think about too much.

And the respirator. I can see the clear bag through the plastic cylinder. Slowly rising and falling in some kind of rhythm with the heart monitor. Helga's chest rises as it compresses, and then falls as it lifts back up. The sight of the breathing mask above her nose and mouth just reminds me even more of her situation. I approach the bed. As always, Helga looks weak, frail. She doesn't move and her eyes are closed. She was like this yesterday, she'll be like this today, and tomorrow.

I look at her matted blond hair, noticing that the pink bow is back as well as some attempt at her old pigtails. Olga must have visited again. The orderlies clean Helga up but they don't pay her hair much attention. I smile. If only Helga could know what Olga's been doing since the bandages were removed and the bruises faded... I shake my head, killing that thought. Helga knows. She's got to know, deep down, somehow. I am not giving up hope. I have not given up hope. I will not give up hope.

I think back to what Doctor Bliss revealed to me as I look at Helga and have to fight back tears. I better not let Helga see me like this. If she knew I had her locket she'd jump right up from that bed. I dare not try that though. Somehow I have to keep this secret, our secret. I steal another look at her face, her blank expression. Unibrow relaxed, her mouth is covered by that respirator, so I can't see if she's smiling or frowning, perhaps she's dreaming. I don't know.

I sit down on the chair against the wall, staring forward. I'm still in shock from the inscription in the locket. Suddenly the girl in the bed before me has changed. She looks different, smells different, her very presence is different somehow. I know her secret, somehow I know what drives her, and he is in this very room with her right now. Her most intimate admission hanging around my neck.

As I usually do I sit here contemplating on what I could have done differently on that day to prevent this. I know I shouldn't blame myself. I was not even there. There was no chance in heck that I could have prevented this. Is that why I've been visiting her these past two months, out of some sort of guilt? Or is it just my nature, helping someone who is in pain.

The people I talked to say she didn't even see it until it was too late. She was with Phoebe, walking to Slaussen's when it happened. They were at the corner of an intersection when a speeding car at the opposite side didn't see the red light. The driver stopped in a hurry but then lost control and spun through the intersection right at Helga and Phoebe. Helga saw just in time to push Phoebe out of the way, before getting hit. The force of the car flung her through the air, her head hit the brick wall of a building.

She was in intensive care while the swelling damaged her brain. The doctors tried to relieve the pressure but there was already too much damage. Her skull was cracked and her brain was at an odd angle. They did the best they could, but it wasn't enough. Helga never regained consciousness. They tell me most of her brain is dead. But there's something still there. Some kind of activity that they described in weird terminology that I'll never understand.

I'm here for that spark, what's left of Helga. I sit here and read to her every day since they moved her into her own room, hoping somehow that she can hear me. Pretending like nothing too much has happened and this is just a change in scenery. I talk to her about the latest stuff at school, the crazy assignments by our eccentric teacher, little pieces of my own life. I read to her from the book she had started reading before the accident, helping her to finish it because she cannot turn the pages, and reading it to her because she cannot see.

But now I'm here for something else. I look up at her from my chair. "Why didn't you tell me Helga?" I admonish her gently.

I listen for a response. But then I give up. She would just flatly deny it anyway, like she usually did, now that I think about all the things she did and then denied. Did she do those things to be near me? I feel like I know the answer now.

"You could have said something and let me deal with it instead of shying away." There's some anger in my voice, I am angry with her. All this time in her little shell, bullying me, for what?! I've heard some television show once that used the term _fear of rejection_. But I always thought that was for movies and television shows. I never thought it would describe Helga. Then I kick myself mentally. "You did tell me. Remember? At FTi, but then you had to go and make me agree with you that it never happened."

I put a hand to my lips as I remember that time, when Helga kissed me. She was so passionate about it. How could I forget that? And then the school performance of Romeo and Juliet. I swear she was trying to press her tongue into my mouth. Gross. But at the same time, now that I think about it... I knew all along but I didn't want to admit it.

And all those other times. Countless now that I can think of them differently. The time after my bad dream about visiting my cousin Arnie. Hugging Helga because I was giddy about seeing my friends instead of some twisted form like in that dream. The way when I hugged her that, for a brief moment, she seemed to not resist at all, a strange sigh greeting my ear as she seemed to relax. Then in a split second Helga pushing me away and staring at me menacingly.

The very concept that Helga G. Pataki, the worst bully in school, loving me so much that she picks on me to hide from me? I get up from my chair and approach Helga again. Of course there is no reaction to this, there never is. "I need you to help me sort things out. For so many years, I've just wanted to talk to you. I used to joke to myself that if only I could tie you up and make you listen to me for a few minutes, then maybe we could've been friends. But now I fear that we're never going to get the chance. I just need you to come back, to call me a Football Head and say 'criminey' like you always do." I sniffle, fingering the locket, Helga's most prized and sacred possession, hoping for some reaction from the blond girl, anything, even the slightest of movements, a spike in the heart monitor.. "When did this happen? Why do you love me so much?" I ask her still form.

A thought hits me. It seems like the right one. I dimly remember the first time I met Helga in preschool. She was walking to school in the rain, covered in mud. A large pink bow sitting on top of her head, her hair the same style as it is now. I remember vague times when my grandparents were walking with me in a rainstorm, shielding me with an umbrella. I did what I felt was right, I got out and held the umbrella over her head like my grandparents had done for me. I remember commenting on how I liked the bow in her hair because it matched the color of her pants.

That same day I gave her my graham crackers... As I think this I suddenly realize. She was walking in the rain, no umbrella, no lunch box, to preschool. Where were her parents? I think angry thoughts at her parents for both of us. I know Helga does not have much of a home life, but were her parents really that bad? I can't think that thought, not now. I have to be strong for Helga.

I reach over and put my hand over Helga's. Her hand is warm, though I can tell there is no strength there. "Have you loved me since preschool? When I shared my umbrella with you?" I get no response. I will never know. Helga is being mysterious again, like she always is. A very strange puzzle that can lash out and hurt you if you dare solve it. Though now the puzzle is weak and unsolvable. Gently, I stroke my thumb over her hand. It seems smaller than I remember. "You've got my attention, Helga. You can come back anytime you like." I smile weakly, but there's nothing funny about this. I feel as though Helga has made off with a part of me, somehow, and I don't have the power to bring her back. I don't even know which hand I'm holding, Betsy or the Avengers. I probably knew at one time but now I'm unsure.

I glance at the clock on the wall. Nine o'clock. Have I really been in here that long already? I haven't even started reading chapter seven. Phoebe will be here at noon of course since this is a Saturday. She comes by, occasionally with Gerald. Since the accident Gerald and Phoebe have really started something of a sixth grade romance. Phoebe still has fits of panic during school, something called post traumatic stress disorder, but Gerald is always right there by her side to help her through it, offering a shoulder to cry on.

At first Phoebe didn't visit, refusing to see Helga in this state. The first visit was tough, but Gerald and I came along with her parents. Now she shows up every other day, sometimes with Gerald. I don't hold Gerald to that. He was never close to Helga and he's there primarily for Phoebe. Me? I've been here every day since the accident. I don't think I can stop, I don't think I want to stop. I still have that hope that one day Helga will do something, anything.

Some of our school friends visit occasionally, but yesterday the head nurse said it had been a week. Her school acquaintances are moving on. I can't blame them though. Helga never made an effort to have a positive lasting impression on any of them. Some of the visits were out of curiosity, other's were on the insistence of concerned parents. At least once Rhonda Lloyd came by. I was there reading to Helga as Rhonda just stared on, then she left without saying a word. I cannot be sure, and I can never ask her, but I think that Rhonda genuinely misses Helga.

They're forgetting about her... The very thought hurts deep down, more than I can imagine. I cup her hand in between my hands, intertwining her fingers within mine. "Helga. Even though you cannot answer me at all. I'll be here for you. I won't forget you." Tears well up in my eyes again, I blink them back. I feel as if I have to save her from this.

I imagine ripping out the tubes, the respirator, knocking the heart monitor over to stop it from beeping. I imagine embracing Helga in an effort to protect her from the insistent doctors, and kissing her, like she's sleeping beauty, to see her wake up from all this mess and then scowl at me. I imagine showing her the locket I'm keeping hidden from view, as our secret. I imagine her smiling at me. I can suddenly imagine going out on dates with her. Then later taking her to a school dance. Laughing and dancing. I can also imagine her giving me one of her trademark insults because it would be so natural for her to do so, then I'll laugh at her and say "whatever you say Helga."

That came from somewhere deep inside my soul. The tears are flowing freely as I scoot over to get a better look at Helga's face, her eyes still closed as always, her hand still in mine. "Helga please say something, please do something to let me know you hear me. You have to do something. You owe me for treating me like crap and loving me at the same time." I sob. My tears fall off my cheek and splash against her arm.

I let my head fall to rest on her shoulder, I screw my eyes shut. I sob. I never let go of her hand. I don't know how long I stay here like this, I do remember hearing a chime. The hospital chimes off the hours and half hours. Nine thirty already. I look up at Helga's face. It hasn't changed at all. But somehow, from this angle, I feel a strange calm wash over me.

I release Helga's hand from my grip and lean in to her face. If the situation were different she'd be punching me right now, but I can't help it, I'm fascinated with the girl that loves me and bullies me. I take my hand and slowly trace the curve of her cheek, across the part of her nose not covered by the respirator, and finally run my hand through her matted hair. I know that behind those closed eyes is a brain that doesn't work very well anymore but I also know that Helga's trapped in there.

I whisper to her. "You've kept your secrets from me, but I have a secret to share with you. Doctor Bliss gave me your locket." I remove the locket from under my shirt and hold it over her head. I know she can't see it, I don't care. I pick up both of her hands, which is a feat because I have to lean over and manipulate their dead weight. I take the locket, still hanging around my neck and clasp her hands around it, in turn clasping my hands around hers, hovering over her heart. I think I'm becoming a hopeless romantic like her.

"I will never tell a single soul that I have this. I'm keeping it safe for you. I will never forget you ,and I think," I sob again, "I think I'm falling in love with you."

No response. There never will be. I lean down again and press my lips against her cheek for a few moments. I stay like this for I don't know how long, before slowly standing up, removing her hands from the locket and replacing them to lay at her sides. I realize I am out of tears to shed today. I look up at the clock. Nine fifty. I still have a few hours before Phoebe shows up. Better late than never.

I sit down in the chair and reach beside me to pick up the book. I open it up the page indexed by the simple purple bookmark. I find the first paragraph, but before I begin reading I look up at Helga again. No movement, but I don't care, at least for today it doesn't matter anymore. I'm happy for some reason. Perhaps this is a turning point for me. I don't know.

I will carry this locket for Helga. After all, I am her soul.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

Author's Corner:

This _concludes_ my first attempt at a _Hey Arnold_ short story. It is also the first time I have really delved into Arnold's character, making this an invaluable character study for me. I was having a seriously hard time writing his character in _A Precious Long While_ chapter 1 and in the draft of chapter 2 (which will be posted soon, trust me). So writing this story in the first person and half of it from Arnold's point-of-view helped me understand his character more. This also gave me a chance to write Doctor Bliss, whom is a gem of a character. It is a shame she only appears in Helga on the Couch.

There is a reason this story is titled _ Ānanda. _I wonder what it means?

Many thanks and kudos to Lord Malachite. I sent him this story in its most raw first draft form complete with odd punctuation and weird sentences after writing it in the course of a day. His edits, additions, and suggestions were pure gold and really helped add some final coloring to my story.

As always I accept constructive criticism among other feedback. Reviews are my bread and butter for I see no monetary gain on this. I also accept generous donations of e-mail. If you want a more real time chat with me feel free to drop me a line on AOL Instant Messenger. My screen name is "The RoboNerd"

Peace out!...

You still here? Good. Read on...

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

That evening with the hospital winding down, a nurse came in to Helga's room for the routine. She checked the IV bags, made notes of vital signs. When dealing with a vegetable the routine becomes pretty stale, so the nurse went about her robotic work without a care. She was off in thirty so her mind was elsewhere, a date she had planned with a cute guy.

At that thought she hummed something simple to herself as she gently lifted Helga's head, to lift the respirator up and re-seat it. Had she been paying attention she would have seen something odd underneath the respirator.

The curves of a smile.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

First Draft Finished: 7/27/2008

Final Draft Finished: 7/29/2008

Published: 8/4/2008


End file.
